


We'd Never See the Stars Without It

by gahlifre



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Other, sorry for this but I love angst a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-05
Updated: 2015-09-05
Packaged: 2018-04-19 05:45:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4734764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gahlifre/pseuds/gahlifre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She kissed him and began to run with him throughout the galaxy, and they had the time of their lives.<br/>The light is turned off at some point though, and all that is left is dark. </p>
<p>The Doctor deals with the death of Clara Oswald, and the loss of the life and light that she managed to show him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We'd Never See the Stars Without It

_i. Life_

First, there is always life.

The Doctor feels lucky to know the exact origins of her life. Blowing in on that leaf, and still blowing. The most poetic beginning, fit for a pretty good English teacher.

Sometimes, when he is alone in the TARDIS, just reflecting, he likes to remember the days of his bowtie years. Back when he rushed up and down her timeline to figure out where she came from, what she meant to him. Of course, he didn’t find out much about that though, not until Trenzalore. Still, it was a privilege, really, to watch Clara Oswald become the Clara Oswald the universe wanted her to be- spunky, bossy, _and so full of life_.

It’s what had attracted him the most to her, the Time Lord thought. Her zest for adventure, even if it had at first started out only on Wednesdays. But he loved that she had 101 Places to See, he loved that she was so open to meeting new people, traveling to new places, putting her heart and soul into every single thing that she did.

Yes, Clara was needy, yes, she was an egomaniac and a game-player. Underneath all of that though, were the human emotions and the human wanting to live a life to the fullest that he so admired. The kindness and the compassion to help others, the willingness to stay behind and devote yourself to what you loved, what you wanted.

The Doctor continues to wish that he was a little more like that.

But, like he always does, he molded her into a weapon. She became like him, too focused on what lay ahead than what should have been preserved. And not only that, but he ruined every chance he had to let her settle down. He destroyed Clara’s chance to live the attached, calm life that was filled with babies, shopping, and teaching. He could have given her that if he had just left her alone.

He didn’t though. The Doctor never does. They kept going. Past the last hurrah, past the lies, and onto more adventure. Swirling, twirling throughout the universe, hand in hand, kiss to cheek.

It felt that this journey would never end.

 

_ii. Light_

She glows.

Some people might call his observation subjective or fanciful, since it is largely known throughout the universe that human beings do not _glow_ unless tampered with by some unknown force or alien.

The Doctor isn’t human though. He isn’t constrained by just three dimensions, and he certainly does not see the limited view of the world as pudding brains do. In a Time Lord’s world, everyone glows.

Timelines, that’s what he sees. That has been the gift of Gallifreyans for millennia, the ability to see, understand, and manipulate time. Everyone has a timeline, whether it is short or long, and they all shine to him.

Clara Oswald’s timeline, however, shines more brightly than the rest. This has a reasonable explanation- time travel usually makes a being’s timeline more complex, more unpredictable, and so the many moments that aren’t fixed increase in number and therefore contribute even more to the glow.

But he never likes to think of this in such scientific, mathematical terms. The Doctor loves to think that she gleams for him, a beacon of light in the grey, dark world that he lives in. A golden aura in a place that is often silent and cold.

He even comes up with reasons for why this is true, and there are lots of them. One is the fact that her echoes died so many times for him just to stay alive. And another is how she was there for right after his regeneration, and saw his own glow, witnessed his change.

Clara, Clara, Clara, Clara, Clara.

There for him when he needed it most. When all Time Lords need a presence, after they burst in light and change and have to hold on to something in the universe that will keep them grounded to what they know, what they remember. Clara Oswald was that for him.

The ability to trust the person that a Time Lord regenerated next to was hardwired in their biology by birth. The compulsion to trust your mother, your partner, the people closest to you. It had happened with a peroxide blonde Bad Wolf, the Doctor mused, and a tiny red-haired Scottish child.

Of course, many Gallifreyans liked to scoff at the idea that this was true. Surely, the almighty, powerful inhabitants of Gallifrey weren’t as weak to bend to the will of whoever just happened to be by their side during their changing. For a long while, he too didn’t particularly believe that this was real. Until Clara.

Because he was devoted to her, completely. Absolutely, utterly smitten with her. He had said that he wasn’t her boyfriend, and he wasn’t. In reality, he felt she was so much more to him. He had struggled against the feeling at first. He didn’t want to seem jealous of PE, and he surely didn’t care for the way that his hearts thudded and his palms became sweaty and the tiny smile that would creep its way onto his face when he saw her.

But all of that changed during Christmas, that last Christmas, when Clara Oswald didn’t even argue. She kissed him and began to run with him throughout the galaxy, and they had the time of their lives.

The light is turned off at some point though, and all that is left is dark.

 

_iii. Death_

_She’s dead._

Dead as a doornail, dead as a corpse, and dead as dead can be.

He tries not to believe it. He doesn’t want to. In his mind, Clara Oswald will always shine with the light he associates with her. She will always be laughing and joking and being bossy or teaching or just being so impossibly human, human, human-

The Doctor scowls. He knows his eyebrows are in full attack mode. Human, he thinks. Blasted, bloody humans. Never mind his language. Being human is what got her into this mess.

_Why did she have to die?_

At least she did it for a noble cause, he reasons.

_“I did this for you, you silly old man,”_   _she coughs. Oxygen can get to her brain fast enough. Her heart, that one stupid organ, is slowing down. She is taking her last- her last-_

But it’s ridiculous, the Time Lord decides, that any grief over someone’s death can be cured by just saying that the person died for something.

It doesn’t change the fact that she’s gone.

_Her last breath. She’s about to take it. He knows it. She knows it. Clara, five foot two and crying, holds up her hand to his cheek and runs it over his cheekbones. She’s showing off that sad smile, and a salty tear trickles down her face…_

The Doctor wipes one of his own tears from down the side of his nose. He stops pacing the TARDIS and looks up at the time rotor, the language of his lost home, now found, taunting him. For the first time in centuries, he has parked the TARDIS on his home planet.

_All thanks to Clara Oswald._

He is taken by the sudden urge to rush out of the time machine and yell to the red fields outside, to the population outside. Scream, even. Howl.

_“SHE DID THIS FOR YOU! SHE DID THIS FOR ME! CLARA OSWALD, A HUMAN! YOU SHOULD KNOW HER NAME. OH YES, YOU SHOULD. I KNOW THAT YOU LOT WOULD LIKE TO THUMB YOUR NOSE DOWN AT A LESSER SPECIES, IT’S YOUR HOBBY, OF COURSE. BUT DON’T YOU UNDERSTAND? DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND WHAT SHE DID FOR YOU TO SURVIVE?”_

The Time Lord kicks the console. He is about to thrash his hands into it again and break it to smithereens.

_She’s taken her hand down from his cheek now. She continues to cry, but she’s rested her head on the fiery grass now. A symbol of defeat. She glances up at the sky, and smiles widely. Clara would be the one to smile in the face of death. “It’s wonderfully beautiful, isn’t it?” she says. She turns her head to look at him. “You always told me the sunsets were gorgeous here.” Clara coughs a little more, but she continues to talk. “I thought that you were exaggerating, really. A bloke bragging about his home. They all do it. But I was wrong.” She sighs a little. “This- this is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in the universe. You-you are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen in the universe.”_

_“Clara-“ The Doctor stops her. She can’t speak anymore, he will just turn into a babbling, sobbing mess._

_“Shut up. Do as you are told. For once, Doctor.” She breathes in._

_“Clara, please-“_

_She is shining. She is beautiful. Her brightness outperforms the sunsets of his home. It will, every time. Those big brown eyes. Her smile. Her hair. He runs his fingers through it. And she opens her mouth to speak her last words._

_“Run you clever boy…”_

The fist connects with the console now. He is smashing it, breaking it, and the pain is a thousand times worse than when he thought Gallifrey was lost to him.

“ _And remember.”_

He remembers, and that is the problem. He remembers too much. From the Spoonheads to the Russian submarine to Trenzalore, from the Dalek Asylum to Victorian London, from the Sherwood Forest to the mummy on the Orient Express.

His mind chooses the most inappropriate time to wander on to a subject that he hasn’t thought about much in a while- religion. Gallifreyan religion, in fact. Religion wasn’t much of a thing practiced anymore on the planet, hadn’t been since thousands of years before his time. But when he was younger, he had a relative, a great aunt or grandmother, he couldn’t remember which, who had clung to the old ways.

_“Life, Light, Death, Pain, Time,” the aged Time Lady says by the fireplace of his house, staring into the endless blue of the eyes of this pasty young boy. “These are the gods that must be worshipped most of all.” She squints at him, trying to make sure he understands the point, and raises her finger to wag at him. “And of these, pay the most respect to Time and Death.” She huffs, and pulls her red robes more around her ailing body. “In the end, they are the ones that’ll come to bite you in the rear.” The Time Lady laughs, but her eyes do not glimmer in mirth. Rather, they seem to dissect him to his very soul, as if she sees what is coming next._

The Doctor takes one last pummel at the TARDIS, and bawls, willing Death to just bring back Clara Oswald.

 

_iv. Pain_

 Death doesn’t respond to his command.

He never really expected it too. It hasn’t before. But he tries not to blame himself for having some hope, however far-fetched and misplaced that hope might be.

However, Pain is there.

It’s consumed him, really. The hurt, the emptiness of his loss.

He’s managed to get himself out of the TARDIS though. He tries to mask the pain by attending the long, boring political meetings filled with stuffy Gallifreyans, by visiting the orphanages and the Academy and seeing all the smiling faces of youth, thankful to be out of a war and a never-ending single moment. He expected that these things would make him happy again.

But Clara is not there, and that is what makes the difference. She isn’t caring for the children and the wounded, comforting them with her words and teaching them about the Earth. They aren’t teasing each other about the ever pompous ways of his race. She doesn’t sit with him at night and stroke his hands when he climbs on top of the TARDIS and watches the orange of the Gallifreyan sky slowly dissolve into the deep dark that doesn’t seem so lovely anymore without her.

He can’t find the light of the stars anymore.

The worst part is, he knew that this would happen. He could always sense it after their reunion at Christmas. The Doctor knew that Clara’s death would be imminent if she continued to travel with him, continued to save the universe.

He had to be selfish. He had to ignore his instincts and the timelines, so lost and distracted by the life and light of Clara Oswald that he forgot to pay his respects to Death.

Now Death had taken her away from him.

The Time Lord tries to remind himself that time heals all wounds. Time causes all things to pass. The pain will be gone one day. He won’t feel as empty as things go along. He’ll forgive and forget.

However, he continues to feel so very, very alone without her light, even with the millions of Gallifreyan minds now filling the silence of his previously unused telepathy.

Wishful thinking doesn’t do him any good.

 

_v. Time_

Time passes. That’s what it does.

Although the emptiness is still there, and although the Time Lord still misses Clara Oswald every single hour, he has done what seemed unthinkable several months ago- he has been able to lessen the pain. Not by very much, of course, but he is getting there.

And he needs to get there. For he can hear the call of the universe again, the call to save the planets and civilizations that he hasn’t heard since her death.

But he can’t do that, not just yet. He needs to do something first.

For a long time, weeks even, he paces the TARDIS at night, trying to figure out what exactly he needs to move on. What closure he needs to begin his real life again, and to assume his place in the swirl of the stars.

Then one day, he understands exactly what he needs to do.

The Doctor first starts with taking off his Gallifreyan robes that he has been wearing while on his home planet. He instead slips on the ratty white t-shirt and black jacket that he hasn’t worn for so long, even managing to find his Raybans and his guitar. Clara always thought that they were cool, though she would have never admitted it in life.

He sinks his hands into the telepathic interface, willing the time machine to take him back to her, any her, so long as he can see the face of Clara Oswald for just one last time.

The gears of the TARDIS whirl and the roundels above his head twirl until at least, the grinding of the breaks indicates that the machine has landed.

“Thank you, old girl,” He whispers, as steps outside and finds himself in the middle of an American desert, a relatively abandoned diner sitting across from him, twinkling with its neon signs amidst the gloom of the solitary sand and rocks. The Time Lord smiles. He can practically feel her presence from here.

The silly old man swings open the door of the diner and takes a seat in the vinyl red booth. He picks up the menu on the table and tries to decide what to order with all the hamburgers and hot dogs.

“What can I get for you today, sir?”

He’s still holding the menu up to his face because he never believed he’d hear that voice again. Yes, it’s different than his Clara’s, has a little more of an American twang, but it’s still unexpectedly full of her light and life.

Finally, he manages to let his face show to her, trying to not let too much of his adoration show. “Ah,” He begins. And looks at the list of food again to choose what he wants. “Um… a chicken fried steak… with some coleslaw… and a milkshake,” He stutters, and makes the mistake of gazing at her too long.

She looks like her. Of course, all of Clara’s echoes do, but this one seems even more so. Her hair is parted in just the right place, and she has it pulled back, but he can tell that it is the same length. She’s colored her face in and has on heels that make her taller. He laughs inwardly at her skimpy, TARDIS blue waitress outfit however. She probably hates that. Way too unfashionable.

“Of course, sir. I’ll have it all right up,” The echo walks away from the table, back toward the kitchen-

“Wait!” the Doctor calls, and springs up from the booth, touching her on the shoulder.

The echo twists around and looks at him, eyebrows tugged into a disproving glance. “Sir?” She questions.

“I- I just- wanted to ask you a question,” He responds. “Do- do you mind?”

“No, I suppose I don’t. What do you want to ask?” The echo tilts her head and folds her arms, staring at him, waiting for him to continue.

He doesn’t know what to ask, then. Every single question that he had come up with in his plans deserts his mind as he looks at her, sees her, and soaks her in. But the words find a way to his lips. “I just… wanted to know…” He swallows hard, afraid of rejection, afraid of ridicule. “If you died, and someone close to you… well, someone close to you was grieving over that, what… what would you say?”

The waitress is shocked, that’s for sure. Her mouth hangs open, as if he’s regenerated with no head. “Sir, I…” She starts.

“Please,” He whispers lowly, softly, so uncharacteristically.

The echo stands in silence for a few more moments, but he sees her become resolute to the idea of answering. “If I… lost someone close to me… I guess I would remind them how I much I loved them, really,” She began. “And… and I would tell them…” She swallows. “To not dwell too much on me. To move on. To spread the love they had for me to everyone else.” Her eyes inflate and he can tell she’s about to cry.

So he takes her hand (he’ll always take Clara’s hand), and they look at each other, and he sees her. Really sees her.

_You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen in the universe._

Her voice rocks him out of his daydreams. “Sir? I hope that answered your question.” She’s taken her hand out of his now, telling him it’s time to move on.

He smiles. Truly grins, for the first time since her death. “Yes, you did. Thank you very much…” He trails off, realizing that he doesn’t know this echo’s name.

The woman laughs, understanding his predicament. “I’m Clara. Clara Oswin.”

The Doctor beams back. “Thank you, Clara.” He means it.

The echo moves to finally cook his order, but then turns around and stares at his figure that has now slunk back into the booth of the diner. “Sir?” She calls.

“Yes?” The Time Lord asks.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” She responds.

“Thank you,” He replies. “But I do think that she’d like me to move on.”

Clara nods her head. “I think you better do as you are told, sir.”

He eventually gets his promised chicken fried steak, milkshake, and coleslaw. He shakes hand with the echo of Clara Oswin, the waitress, and steps outside, walking back to the TARDIS.

Before he steps into the time machine, ready to continue his adventures, he glances back at the American desert, now completely surrounded by the evening dark- save for the diner, whose bright-colored placards gleam like the stars he can now find in the sky. The Doctor grins and the machine fades from reality, now once more ready for the universe, glad of one main truth.

His Clara is still lighting the way.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for my long absence, guys. I know that this is mostly over-glorified meta, but I hope you can still come to enjoy it.
> 
> A lot of these things are surely not how they will happen in canon, I can assume, however much I wish they were. I also deliberately left things ambiguous (such as, how did Clara save Gallifrey after all?). I pray that that is okay, and urge you to fill in the blanks with whatever you want.
> 
> Hopefully soon I can start writing again more- however, I am also a senior in high school and having to think about college and applying places, so I sadly don't know when that will be. Thank you all for your patience.
> 
> Please leave kudos and reviews, I would love that! And let me know if you have anymore questions.
> 
> Thank you all, I really appreciate you reading this fic, you are wonderful.


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